Worth
by Helena Louvel
Summary: Regrets are funny things. You never know how many you have until you take a moment to consider what once was, and what might have been.


An equipment case at his back, Colonel Lennox slumped onto the soft grass of the English countryside. After everything that had happened mere hours earlier, it felt too quiet. Even with an alien planet still looming in high atmosphere overhead, it was… peaceful. Drawing the sleeve of his jacket - peppered with holes and covered in dirt and dust - across his brow, he stared out over the rolling hills. At least, what was left of them.

The attempted recreation of Cybertron had gouged ugly gashes into the fields laid before him, churning up rock and bare soil. Stonehenge was relatively isolated. If it looked rough here, he didn't even want to begin to entertain the reality of the casualty numbers that were undoubtedly pouring in from around the world. His stomach clenched at the thought of it. Millions. Again.

" _William."_

It just never stopped. Will had begun to doubt a long time ago that it ever _would_ stop, and it was something he thought he had come to terms with. It wouldn't be the only thing he had been wrong about lately.

A hand found, almost on instinct, the phone nestled protectively in his vest pocket. Thirty two missed texts and seven voicemails, two from Annabelle's school. Will anxiously skimmed through the assorted messages, his heart sinking at the fear and panic in Sarah's voice as she pleaded for him to come home safe. He couldn't send anything back - Cybertron's approach had taken out the majority of satellites, and it would be awhile before any could be repositioned to compensate. Reaching the most recent text, relief came in a tidal wave that nearly had him in tears.

' _We're alive. We're safe. Please, make sure you are too. I love you.'_

He lowered his phone on a shaky sigh, turning his gaze skyward to keep the pinpricks assaulting his vision at bay. He just wanted to go home. Go back to his wife and daughter and pretend for a while that things were normal. Hell, even going back to his days at N.E.S.T would've been better than the TRF's endless bullshit. Then, at least, he wouldn't have the sight of so many fallen friends, flesh and metal alike, haunting him whenever he closed his eyes.

 _"Please, forgive me."_

Bringing his focus level with the horizon once again he wondered, somewhat absentmindedly, what would have happened if Optimus hadn't regained his senses. Would he have been the one to pull the trigger? Would Cade? Would they both have stood back and allowed the Cybertronian knights to finish their task? Could they have even stopped him at all?

The thought sickened him because he knew that, if it had indeed come down to it, he would have. He would have stared Optimus - a comrade, a friend - in the optics and ended his life to save the Earth, and what's more is that Optimus would've done the same. Without hesitation.

He was starting to think that maybe the TRF had rubbed off on him.

Considering that briefly, he immediately amended his thinking. They _had_ , there was no question. Before, he would never have jumped. He would've been the last one off. He would've made sure Cade and Vivienne were in front of him. He wouldn't have doubted Prime, as Cade had begged him not to. How the Texan held onto so much damn faith when even his had been strained, he wasn't sure. Even when he'd known that time and time again Optimus had come through, Will had left.

 _"You're preaching to the choir here, Prime."_

A bitter bile rose in his throat. Forgiveness. For the lives lost, for those he could have saved if he'd stayed, for not being on Earth when they all needed him the most. He didn't do that. Optimus Prime, fearless leader of the Autobots, didn't brokenly ask a human - one with enough wracked up sins for the both of them - forgiveness for something beyond his control. Yet, times had changed. So had they.

Will certainly knew he had. If the events of the past few days weren't evidence enough, his silence in the four years after Chicago were. The military had been well aware of Cemetary Wind and Harold Attinger's exploits, and had done nothing. Placating the masses. Playing along in a game they knew they were now on the wrong side of. Friends had become targets. Enemies, unsteady allies. And somehow, in the mess of it all, the world had forgotten that the Autobots were there to protect them.

Pushing itself to the fore of Will's mind was the fact that this - saving humanity's ungrateful asses, yet again - would ultimately amount to nothing in the eyes of the public. The blame would be laid by the fearful and ignorant today, or tomorrow, or some time years from now, and the war would rage on. Whether it was the TRF or some new task force, someone would continue to spit on the trust Optimus and the Autobots had originally put in people's capacity to be good.

Slipping his phone back into his pocket, Will unsteadily rose, every muscle in his body screaming for proper rest. There was a lot of work to be done, and he wasn't going to turn his back again. Not on Cade, not on Optimus, not on the 'Bots.

Even if he knew better, he held fast to a sliver of hope that maybe, just maybe, this time they'd prove themselves worth it.

 _"There's nothing you've done that needs forgiving."_


End file.
